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Sally Wen Mao

Aubade with Gravel and Gold

By Sally Wen Mao I’m sick of speaking for women who’ve died
Their stories and their disappearances
bludgeon me in my sleep
Kazim Ali

Peach

By Kazim Ali I place the peach gummy on my tongue

I have come to Boulder, Colorado with an agenda which is what

It is my intention to rewrite the cosmic legislation which governs time and space to better allow for what I am for now calling the anarchy of sense
Destiny O. Birdsong

To the Black Virgin Mary on a Steeple in Greensburg, PA

By Destiny O. Birdsong Or maybe you weren’t. Whenever I’m frightened,
anything can become a black woman in a granite dress:
scaffold for what’s to come: blue lights exploding
like an aurora at the base of the bridge;
JP Howard

etheree for black women

By JP Howard black women we be trying to hold worlds
on our backs, in our hearts without fail
some days we fail at perfection
Purvi Shah

Saraswati praises your name even when you have no choice

By Purvi Shah You had a name no one
could hold between their
teeth. So they pronounced
Samantha Thornhill

House of the Rising

By Samantha Thornhill Give thanks to your mansion
of a mama in that cold square room

the push and pull
of breath that brought
Luis Alberto Ambroggio

Enough!

By Luis Alberto Ambroggio Poetry might never have seen
that categorical word,
but in its charged belligerence
of emotions and in its profound determination,
Holly Karapetkova

Song of the Exiles

By Holly Karapetkova There never was a garden
only a leaving:
miles and miles
of footprints in the dirt.
Patrick Rosal

Violets

By Patrick Rosal A brisk sunset walk home: Lafayette Ave.
After weeks straight of triple layers
and double gloves, the day has inched
Craig Santos Perez

Twinkle, Twinkle, Morning Star

By Craig Santos Perez kaikainaliʻi wakes from her late afternoon nap
and reaches for nālani with small open hands—

count how many papuan children
still reach for their disappeared parents—
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